


A Musical Life

by Nadler



Series: goalie nesting [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Disney Songs, Gen, Nesting, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-09 00:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11657640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadler/pseuds/Nadler
Summary: Tulsa's not where he thought he'd end up, but life is pretty okay as a minor-league goalie.PJ Musico's in the middle of actually nesting, surrounded by pillows, when he gets called by his agent. He sucks in a breath and looks around at his room. His phone's on? He's stacked all the pillows and couch cushions he can find around his bed's perimeter, so he kicks one stack to the floor to get out and grabs his cell from the dresser.





	A Musical Life

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea and it wouldn't let me go. 
> 
> This is goalie nesting with a goalie named Musico (who likes Disney!) He is also a weird goalie who hoards gear and sticks and helmets inside his net (during games, even!). 
> 
> He had a four day long PTO, once.

PJ barely misses the call and thinks, 'oh shit.' 

He really, really hopes he isn't going to be put on waivers again. That's how he got here in the first place--too good not to pass up, but not good enough to get something back for. He hums "Whistle While You Work" because shit, at least something can go right, and music helps. PJ texts his brother: _say goodbye to all who knew me_

His brother texts back, almost impossibly fast, _Hey, are you scared? You got this, little bro. You've done this before._

PJ knows he's not the most talented goalie. Hell, he's just a backup, but when he feels on, he's _on_. He went to college for it, and now he's getting paid something for it. Sometimes he doesn't get along with his roommates, but they play for the same team, play for the same colors and the same trophy, so it means something. That's something he learned back in college, at least.

It's pretty fucking awesome. But he's only a backup in the ECHL, and that means the team's quick to try to move him because it's a business.

PJ takes a breath. He hums a few notes of something in some vain hope--(there may be something there that wasn't there before)--and calls back. 

"Oh, you're up?" 

There's no way to nod and have it show on the phone, so, "Have you ever imagined what it would be like, to take off, and never look back?" 

A cough. "PJ? You alright?" 

PJ took another deep breath. "Let's get down to business," he booms, and fuck, he manages to quietly slip in, "to defeat the Huns." 

Okay, his agent has kids. He knows this. He knows PJ sings. It's _Disney_ , everyone knows it, and PJ more than most. A pause. 

"Oh." His agent clears his throat. "The Heat want to give you a PTO. I'll come down tomorrow so you can sign it. They want you up as soon as possible. I'd start packing a bag." 

PJ sings in fucking joy (good luck will rub off when I shakes hands with you--or blow me a kiss--and that's lucky too) until one of his roommates pops his head into the room and throws a fucking shoe at him because he's a terrible person. PJ ducks and catches it because he's not a chump. He feels another one coming up, and he can't help but dole out, "One jump ahead of the hitman!"

"Oh, come _on_ , PJ." There is grumbling. "Being around you normally is already worse than being around my kid sisters. But at least they stick one to one song. I can't tune you out."

"Gotta steal, gotta live to eat, otherwise we'd get along!" PJ sighs and goes back to his bag. It's been three days, and his teammates have already stopped talking to him unless it's to complain. And PJ can _actually sing_. This would be so much worse if he couldn't. He ends simply, "And thank you!" 

"What's goings on?" PJ hears a Quebec-ish accent ask, and that means one thing: the French guys have stolen their living room again. Danny P looks in and asks, "He leaving?"

He closes the door on them.

PJ sings. He's allowed to be fucking happy. Maybe. He's going to milk it for however long it lasts.

~ 

In the fucking morning, he finds that a teammate's pinned a note that reads, 'hey I'm musico and i'm going to be singing your fucking ears off' to his bag. PJ pulls it off. He lobs it across the room, and it rings when it goes into the trash.

Score.

PJ flips everyone off as he goes. He hums to himself and it resonates. He's going back to sunny California. He sends off another text, _pack your bags, you're going home_ to his brother with a couple of music notes.

_WHAT? Did you get hurt?_

PJ sends him a sun emoji. And then a link to the Heat's website because oh, right, he should have done that in the first place!

_Back to the best coast with you! Careful, little brother. That's Sharks territory. Don't play with fire or you might get burned._

PJ groans.

When he gets there, PJ shakes hands and smiles at everyone. The staff quickly catch that he's nesting. PJ's antsy to get out on the ice, to test out everything. It's not quite home, not quite his crease to protect, but it's what he's got. 

The goalie coach for the Heat tries to see how he is, but he lets PJ show him what he does, how he stretches, how he sways. He keeps the thrum of "Go The Distance" under his skin and under the noise of the rink, but he can't guarantee Coach doesn't hear.

Someone's glove comes off and stops just to PJ's left during a drill. He can't wait about this kind of thing, not even when he's _not_ nesting. He drags it back to the net behind him with his stick. He places it safely in the net.

Coach huffs, but he chuckles. "That better for you?" 

PJ crouches down. PJ crows, and it's jazzy and low. "And I'm almost there, I'm almost there. People down here think I'm crazy but I don't care."

Coach gets a faraway look in his eye. He pats PJ's shoulder and says, "Keep at it, Musico." 

He piles towels and pillows in the hotel, but it's not the same. It's infuriating. PJ, like all goalies, just wants control. Maybe he also wants to show off, a little. He thinks, 'they're quick, but I'm much faster.' 

Then, they don't even play him for one game. He sits on the bench, humming softly--(oh I just can't wait to be king)--and watches. 

~ 

They send him packing after four days. 

They just needed a warm body to fill the spot. They could have asked anyone, and PJ was the sucker who came running.

PJ splashes cold water on his face after they let him go. He's alone in his hotel bathroom, at least. The Heat didn't spring for a fancy place, but it's nicer than his apartment. He looks at the mirror. "What is _wrong_ with me?" 

He swallows. Look, he didn't think this was perfect or would last, but he didn't even get a week. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," PJ swears.

And he blinks. There it is. "They got a good look at me," he consoles himself, but it's not really working. "You're going to get it. Patience." 

One more thing.

PJ pulls out his phone to FaceTime his brother. It's been a while since he's heard PJ's voice.


End file.
